I can’t believe my brother is getting married again.
Lord, he treats women like used cars – test drives ’em, haggles over terms, buys for as little as he can possibly get away with, then drives them until they quit responding.
This will be the third time. You’d think he would have figured out that what Mom let the Giant get away with left a lasting imprint, but no. He bagged a real winner, this one. I mean that literally. He told me he had to go with burlap because the drool soaked right through the paper and the last time he used plastic I wound up an accessory after the fact. My trunk smelled like bleach for six weeks. This broad, Gino I think her name was, was even more desperate than the first two. Hell, she took him home on a blind date! I was there to rescue my monoplacental twin in case she shrunk his balls up by turning up decent looking or confident, but believe me there was no chance of that. She was right in Billbo’s wheelhouse, just like the first two. She came from the truck stop in her waitress uniform and – no exaggeration! – led him out the back door by his dick. I never saw him move so fast in my life, but if your junk was as unimpressive as my brother’s you wouldn’t want anyone to see it either.
He says the wedding will be at the courthouse, which is great news for me. I have 40 unpaid parking tickets, so I won’t be anywhere near the place. Plus the Bucks are on TV. I’ll send a gift certificate for Shop-Ko. Ten bucks should be plenty, it ain’t like there’s gonna be a reception.